


The Worst Part

by SylverFletcher



Series: Carmen and Player being best friends and crime buddies fight me let my kids be happy [2]
Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Best Friends, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Overthinking, Player is heckin panicking up a storm, Player's side of the aftermath of coach brunt's mega hug, Recovery, Worry, and he could do nothing about it, and he heard every little sound in that little death hug?, basically the premise here is, companion fic to the first part, poor Player is gonna have nightmares and knowing me I'll probably write that too, what if carmen's communications with him is open 24/7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverFletcher/pseuds/SylverFletcher
Summary: Player trusted Carmen. He believed in her. If anyone could make it out of that hostage situation with the detective without a hitch, it would be her.Even so, he had a gut feeling it was going to go wrong. And go wrong it did, leaving him with an unconscious, horribly injured best friend and an anxiety ridden mind that won't stop giving him the worst possible outcomes.(companion piece to Take it Easy, Red)





	The Worst Part

**Author's Note:**

> I love Player so much. This kid has a frick ton of anxiety and intrusive thoughts and overthinking and you can't convince me otherwise. He worries for his best bud and her dangerous ways and he must PROTECC

He wasn’t sure which part had been the worst.

If it had been the start, knowing he was about to watch his charge and best friend walk into a situation that could go very bad, very fast. He trusted her, of course. She was the best there was, and if anyone could pull this off without a hitch, it would be her. But a part of him couldn’t shake off the nagging worry, the anxiety, that something bad was going to happen. That feeling left him on the edge of his chair, fidgeting, antsy and concerned and waiting for the turn when everything would go wrong.

And go wrong it did.

She never turns her communications off, ever. He always hears every tussle, every fight. But this one was different. From the start he could tell she was outmatched, and she was  _ afraid _ , which scared him more than anything else. It was so rare for anything to get under her skin, sometimes he convinced himself she was actually untouchable. But this fight, this time, disproved any notion of that whatsoever.

When it turned from bad to worse, well, he knew he was going to have nightmares about it for the rest of his life. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of his blood running cold with dread, as he realized the sounds he was hearing was her breathing getting cut off. The choking, gasping, ever so faint wheezing, while one of her old teachers rambled something about a hug. Player could do nothing but sink back in his chair, a deep feeling of horror overtaking him, especially when he started to hear the most gruesome  _ crunch _ sounds. He could picture it vividly, he knew what was happening. Carmen was being crushed by that gargantuan woman, getting the life squeezed out of her as her body gave way under the pressure and her bones started to snap.

And no one, not a damn one of them, could do anything to save her.

He was about to hear his best friend die, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

It almost didn’t feel real when suddenly, it stopped. When there was another struggle, more scuffling, and suddenly he could hear the red thief take in the deepest and most pained breath he’d ever heard. She was gasping, hyperventilating, and he could practically feel a phantom version of her own pain, but she was alive. For the moment, at least.

Just like her, he thought the deafening sound of metal would be the real end, that the escape from the bone breaking hug had only delayed the inevitable. But he could see her icon, trailing ever so excruciatingly slowly, away from the site it had all gone wrong. And all the while, he could hear her struggle, a front row seat to the pained noises she tried to keep to herself. And maybe she did, maybe no one else could hear them, but he was practically in her own head. He heard everything.

It was horrible, but it also meant she was alive. He preferred hearing her pain over hearing her never make another noise.

But then it got worse again. She seemed fine for awhile, escaped and slowly relaxing and somewhat coming to terms with the entire experience. He could hear the muffled conversation, bits and pieces of what her other old teacher told her, of the conclusions she came to all on her own. She was bright and aware, albeit in pain, but she seemed okay. It was only once the other party vanished, though, and she was left telling him the details he missed, that he noticed her voice starting to slur.

It brought the panic right back up, right to the surface. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, he didn’t know what all was wrong with her and she wasn’t saying. Tough as nails and stubborn to a fault, she wouldn’t admit when she was too hurt to go on, and that was sending his anxiety straight back through the roof now. He did his best, tried to keep her up, tried to ask her geography facts and get her talking, but it only worked some. She nodded off in the middle of a mumbled answer, slumping down into a heap wherever she was, and leaving him in a panic as he tried to rouse her again.

She didn’t wake up, no matter how many times he called her name right into her ear, not when he left his side of the comm open while he called and panicked to Ivy, and not when the siblings arrived at her location and tried to wake her in person.

Then there was the plane ride as they brought her to him. Carmen was unconscious throughout the entire multi-hour trip, sending him even further into a panic. Not once, during all those agonizingly long hours waiting for their arrival and listening to the siblings banter as lightly as they could to cheer him up, did the thief awaken. Though Ivy reassured him, again and again, that she was probably just completely exhausted and would wake up when she was ready, it didn’t help.

And what did he expect to change, when they did finally arrive? He knew nothing would. Though it made sense why Carmen refused hospitals and doctors, saying they couldn’t risk her getting reported and locked up, he wishes it was different. Locked up and breaking out would be better than having her die on them, considering none of the team knew more than a bandaids and neosporin level of medical care. Not even he, in all his vast and sometimes obscure knowledge, had any more idea of how to handle something serious than the others did, so there wasn’t anything that would change just from him being around physically.

Still, he thought he’d feel better when he could set his eyes on her himself. See for himself, not just through Ivy’s admittedly blessedly detailed description, that Carmen was still breathing. That when he started to spiral into a pit of  _ what if _ and worst case scenarios, he could just look over and see that she was still with them, even if for just that moment.

But is that how it went?

No.

It was almost worse, when the siblings finally made it to his barren and lonely home, toting between them under the dark of night their battered and beaten friend. When he first set eyes on her, himself, and saw under the comfortable clothes Ivy had put her in, the  _ huge _ bruises blooming across her body. Or the way she was just limp and completely dead to the world, when he knew full well she’d been that way for an extremely worrying amount of time.

Not even, once they got her laid out gently on his bed near his computer and she breathed evenly in her sleep, did the ever mounting feeling of uncertain dread recede. Not even after the siblings left to give him space and Carmen silence to rest, and he was able to just sit by her and try to reassure himself with the constant rise and fall of her chest. None of it helped, none of it made him feel any better.

No amount of seeing her still alive could erase how battered she was, or the possibility that she just wouldn’t wake up again. Or the long term damage she could suffer from if she did, or any other number of things his frazzled, terrified, and hopelessly sleep deprived brain could conjure up.

And in particular, none of it erased what he’d heard. In the silence of his room, with no mission and no playful voice to distract him, he couldn’t stop hearing that same sickening  _ crunch _ over and over  _ and over _ again.

And then, was it any better when she did finally wake up?

At first, it was. His mindless virtual card game barely held his attention, barely distracted him from the audio memory, but left him free to notice the instant she moved. When she forced herself to sit up, worry bloomed in him at the movement on her already injured body, but it was cut with a swelling feeling of hope and relief. Her waking up deleted at least half of his wild running fears, so just that much was a blessing.

But then it went back down into worry again. She was looking around, her expression one of pure panic, and her eyes concerningly unfocused. Maybe it was just the dark, but he was so scared for whatever state she was in.

He was afraid, at first, of making it worse by speaking to her. But he should have known that she’d know his voice right away, that she’d relax once she heard him. It didn’t make her heed his warning, though, and her panic only returned once she tried to stand and he moved to stop her. She wasn’t in good enough condition to be moving around yet, she couldn’t go making it worse, she was still  _ so stubborn _ even while seemingly completely out of it.

Maybe now, though, he knew which part had been the worst.

The worst part, worse even than that horrid  _ crunch _ , was when she started crying. Not the sniffling, sobbing kind, but tears pouring out over her cheeks unhindered still counted, even though she didn’t even seem to realize she was doing it. In all his time of knowing her, Player had  _ never _ known her to cry. He’d never heard her get choked up, even, and he’d especially never seen it. Short of her telling stories of disgusting rice or skinned knees as a tiny thief child, he was pretty sure she’d never even really honestly cried as an adolescent or a teenager whatsoever. Throughout all their missions, all her injuries, all her emotional turmoil from turning on her entire ‘family’, she’d still never let it truly get to her to the point of tears.

And that was exactly why this moment, this exact picture unfolding before him, was the worst part of it all.

He didn’t know exactly how to handle it, but that was nothing new at this point. He’d spent the better part of a week losing his mind over not knowing what to do for her, but at least with this he could damn well at least try, and he was going to do just that.

And it seemed, at least, that was the right move. When he held her face and wiped her tears away, and spoke low and comforting to her like his mom once had, he could see as her eyes focused and she came back. He knew, then, that there she was, his best friend and partner in crime, back to her usual self and mostly no worse for wear other than the physical recovery of broken bones she’d have to endure. She was still here, she had survived that experience even through all the endless fears his sleep deprived and anxiety ridden brain had supplied him with.

And then she hugged him. Her grip still strong, uncomfortably tight, and yet it was everything he needed. It told him, without an ounce of doubt, that she was here. She was still with him, by his side, his friend that chased away the loneliness on the bad days and accomplished things even the entire world couldn’t on other days. Her hug was warm and grounding, and in that moment, he felt the weight of the worry, the anxiety and the boundless fear, finally lift away.

**Author's Note:**

> au where Player gets back at Coach Brunt for traumatizing him by trying to kill his best friend tbh all in favor raise your hands


End file.
